A sea of slumber washed over him, falling off the Earth and into the satin sheets–their glorious waves relaxing him into sleep. Another busy day, another lonely night. He was a sleep in a matter of seconds; the day’s clothes still outfitted his body.

Nothing could awake him, not even the disturbance downstairs.

There was a slight tick, tick–one of those sounds you just can’t figure out. And in this case, a bobby-pin danced in the lock of the door, until it clicked. A slight sigh of triumph, as the door to Trent’s home swung open.

The harsh winds, along with the intruder, swept into foyer. With the closing of the door, a search began. Eyes darted across the walls, down the halls. Ascending the steps, a hand tracing along the bannister, the uninvited guest looked down a hall, seeing a doorway.

Trent had been a bit sluggish on the installation of state-of-the-art security system. Too busy with the daily stresses of work and its arsenal of morons, too busy with the stress of living in the public eye, too busy dreading his appointments with Doctor Reid–too busy procrastinating, actually...

But, then again, he was really in no hurry to get one. He thought he was safe in his own home, situated within the confines of Suburbia. It was a natural assumption, but maybe these custom-built homes with perfectly manicured lawns, tossed upon the soil in bright, sunny cul-de-sacs weren’t much safer than the shitty apartments. Safety was never the issue though, only image.

In any case, Trent’s intruder crept towards his slightly opened door, a beam of light shooting into the dark hallway. The intruder stood before the door, rapping on it lightly a few times. No movement. Entering the room, the light suddenly came on. Still, nothing.

He’s dead. Or would be, had the trespasser wanted his life. “Mr. King?” A familiar voice resonated. A female voice.

Stillness.

She walked past Trent’s bed, eyes focused on his body. He was as still as stone, in a fixed position which looks as if it’d be uncomfortable. With a swift motion of the hands, she drew back the drapery, revealing the dim light of pre-dusk.

He stirred slightly; nothing major. But, at least she knew he was still alive.

With desperation, she grasped the bottom of Trent’s sheets. Fearing he slept in the nude, she yanked them from the bed with a twinge of apprehension. She found that he was fully-clothed, even had on his favorite white Forces, which made her mouth curl up into a slight smile. But, it soon faded when he only moved somewhat.

“Mr. King?!” She sighed. Never had she seen someone sleep through her efforts. He’s a pro.

With a bit of anger in her stride, she stepped into the white-tiled bathroom. She searched the room quickly until she found a cup used as toothbrush holder, dumped his toothbrush into sink, and let a stream of cold water fill the cup.

Her smile back, a little more sinister though, she walked back into the bedroom. Giving him one last opportunity, she stood over him, and spoke again, “Mr. King?”

Trent grunted slightly, before slapping a pillow over his head.

“Fine,” she though to herself, as she poured the water onto the front of Trent’s jeans. Right on cue, Trent hopped up from the bed, a flurry of curse words tainted the air, from which “What the fuck?” and “Oh, shit!” were discerned.

Now much more noticeably awake, Trent stared into the eyes of his manager, Natasha Rivers. “What the hell is going?”
“I knocked on your door for well over twenty minutes,” She replied, hand fixed to her hip.
“How the fuck did you get into my house?” He began to take the wet jeans off.
“Mr. King, that’s not of concern at the moment. We’ve lots of work to do and you need to dress, quickly.”

Those eyes. An entrancing mixture of gray and a sparkling shade of green. They seemed twist the minds, change the hearts of those most set in their ways. All with a look.

It was no different with Trent. Without a word, and in his mind, he quickly forgave, maybe he really didn’t care or maybe because he was about to put on the charm...

He walked towards the bathroom, stopping at the doorframe and looking back. “I’m gonna take a shower, first. Wanna join me?” He was only joking a little bit.
“No, Mr. King–”
“Please, call me Trent.”
She sighed. “Trent, do hurry and take your shower. I’ll meet you in the car in twenty.”
“Are you making me breakfast?” He joked a little more than before.
“Mr. King...”

Okay... He closed the door to take his shower, as Natasha exited his home.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, she had a smoke, listened to the radio and called Ether from her cell.

“No...He’s taking a shower. I’m gonna get some training started today.” A pause.
“No! He’s not ready. Not in the least. I’ll bring ‘im to have a gander in a few days.” Another.
“Look, you’re going to play this my way. Or you won’t get ‘im at all. Understand?” ...
“Good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

She sat back, looking down at clock on her radio. Trent had been getting ready for forty minutes.